


Volunteer Fire Department (or, Eyes!)

by captainoflifeandlemons



Category: Series of Unfortunate Events - Lemony Snicket, Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: Fires, Gen, Spiders, memories and the loss thereof was a reoccurring theme here, my oc intern kind of took over towards the end, snicket was voluntold into becoming the head of the night vale vfd, the night vale marine biologists association...maybe?, vfd, why spiders
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-16
Updated: 2014-07-16
Packaged: 2018-02-09 04:30:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1969131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captainoflifeandlemons/pseuds/captainoflifeandlemons
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A stranger has appeared in Night Vale--a stranger with a most peculiar tattoo on his ankle.  Eyes appear all over town, the regular fire department vanishes as penalty for walking, and the Glow Cloud--ALL HAIL--proves to be a truly merciful being. (Set pre-Strex takeover.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Volunteer Fire Department (or, Eyes!)

Time flies when you’re having fun. Time flies when you’re not having fun. Time flies regardless of your actions, on its ragged wings, past your home towards some unknown destination. Time flies, but we remain chained to the earth. Welcome to Night Vale.

\--

Today, listeners, I am joined in the studio by a…guest. She is either a member of a vague, yet menacing government agency or the Night Vale Marine Biologist’s Association. I am not sure which. She hasn’t spoken a word since she entered this studio. I’m not entirely certain _how_ she entered this studio, as she was here before I unlocked the door this morning, but it’s always nice to have visitors. Especially visitors whose eyes and cephalopod badges gleam in a vague, yet menacing manner.

Speaking of eyes, do not be alarmed if you find hastily carved sketches of them etched into the walls of your home. I’ve counted five of them in the studio so far today. These are probably just another attempt at artistic surveillance on the part of the Sheriff’s Secret Police. Personally, I find them comforting. It’s nice to know that somebody out there is always looking out for you. Always. You are _never_ alone.

\--

Now, for the traffic. Pedestrians have been declared illegal. Actually, this order went through quite some time ago, and we’re only now receiving it. If you or a family member has been vaporized while walking in the past few months, this is probably why. When questioned about the law, Mayor Pamela Winchell said that it was passed by the Night Vale PTA under guidance of the Glow Cloud. ALL HAIL. The PTA first passed a law giving themselves supreme power over the legal system here in Night Vale. All in the interest of educational equality, of course. So remember, listeners, not to walk to work. You shouldn’t drive, either, because even though we all know global warming is just a conspiracy to distract us from the carnivorous wicker furniture infiltrating America department stores, it’s best to keep the environmentalists happy. Instead, try beaming yourself out of existence and back again into the location you desire to visit. It’s easy, assuming you’ve learned to cut your ties to reality.

\--

Listeners, I’m sure you all remember the complete fiasco that was yesterday’s Biweekly Fireperson Appreciation Parade. If not because it was memorable, than at least because City Council’s memory-wiping devices that were so cleverly arranged inside every citizen’s pillowcase need a change of batteries and haven’t worked since…you know, I can’t recall. Maybe the Council has them up and running again! Anyways. As the parade ran past the Ralph’s—literally ran, due to the storm of fire ants chasing the participants who were not on floats—a man stepped out into the road. He was tall enough that the fire ants could not reach his ankles, one of which was tattooed with the image of an eye. His other, non-inked eyes (of which there were two) were shining with a menace that was not at all vague. In his hand, he held a match. If you regularly check the bulletin board that the faceless old woman who secretly lives in your home nailed to your closet ceiling, then you know that the Fire Department has a policy against putting out fires during their parades. So when the stranger tossed the match onto the nearest float, which due to an unfortunate accident had been soaked in gasoline, none of us were sure how they would react. The firefighters seemed to move as one, not towards the fire, but towards the man. They walked slowly in his direction, arms outstretched—and then were gone. They were vaporized, listeners. Having abandoned their burning floats they had become pedestrians, and even in situations as desperate as that one the law takes precedence. All the parade-goers, who were not walking but rather running away and flapping their arms, were safe. Nobody has put out the fire, as far as we are aware, so…I would avoid the part of town near the Ralph’s if I were you. The man with the tattoo of the eye was last seen fleeing Night Vale, pursued by a swarm of bees known to be in collaboration with the fire ants.

\--

Our studio guest has just handed me a piece of paper. It seems to be entirely blank. I’ll leave it stuck to the office door where I know the Sheriff’s Secret Police will find it. Maybe their photocopying machine will reveal some hidden message of great importance, or a laundry bill, or something.

Speaking of the Sheriff’s Secret Police, I’ve gotten an update on the crude eyes being carved into and drawn on surfaces all over town. Apparently, neither the Sheriff’s Secret Police nor City Council are behind this. When asked for a comment on whether the eyes may be tied to the man with the tattoo, the mayor slowly but defiantly consumed a small scrap of linen.

Our _friends_ from StrexCorp, however, had quite a bit to say on the matter. While they maintain that there’s no connection to the events of yesterday, they would like to inform you that the man with the tattoo is harmless. ‘He’s an actor, Cecil!’ some nameless Strex employee informed me, ‘and was creating business revenue!’ So don’t worry about the fact that our town is going up in flames, because it’s all for the sake of _productivity_. Anyone who sees the man returning to town should point him in the direction of the dog park—what’s that? Oh, I’m sorry. I meant the nearest Strex-owned firm.

\--

Listeners, have you ever felt wronged? How about ambitious? Tired? Carefree? If you have experienced these or any other emotions, please visit a medical consultant. A recent study has proven that emotions are unnatural, and most likely planted in our minds by extraterrestrial life forms. If feelings continue to occur, become a medical consultant yourself. Bequeath all emotion to your patients, and charge them extra for the worry they will gain and return to you with. This has been Community Health Tips.

\--

The fire continues to rage through town. Members of the Night Vale PTA, acting with their new legal authority, have decided to form a volunteer fire department. If you have been chosen as a candidate for the department, volunteering is mandatory. Please meet on the second floor of the used kitchenware store to discuss the strategical application of water to flames.

\--

Leann Hart, editor for the Night Vale Daily Journal, would like me to make an announcement. She has failed to mention what this announcement might be. However, that slip of paper given to me by our studio guest—who is still lurking pleasantly in the corner—has been returned by the Sheriff’s Secret Police. It turns out that there was a message written on it. It wasn’t even hidden, I was just looking at the back. Whoops. So, I’ll just read this instead. Remember, everyone, this is coming from Leann.

A spider never forgets. Not all spiders. Just a single, specific spider. It has not forgotten. A ring of glass. An upturned loaf of bread. A cat. It has not forgotten. An orange parasol. A rubber band. An alternative rock band. It has not forgotten. A striped ribbon. A model of the pentagon. The actual pentagon. It has not forgotten, and _it shall be avenged_.

That announcement was brought to you by Leann Hart. Thank you, Leann.

\--

The stranger with the tattoo has been found again, this time in Old Town. Due to his apparent skills with fire, Strex Corp has handed him over to the PTA as a head for the newly founded Night Vale Volunteer Fire Department. It’s believed that—

**Cecil!**

Intern Reece? What are you doing, and…who are all these people?

**Cecil, I’m not just an intern anymore. I got pressed into the volunteer fire department.**

My condolences.

**No, really, it’s fine. In fact, I got a list of book recommendations from the new head, and I haven’t read any of them! My parents faked the age on my birth certificate to keep me out of the summer reading program, so I never became familiar with anything as dangerous as classic literature. But the new head really does know a lot about both firefighting and eighteenth century poets.**

And this is the arsonist— _actor—_ who ruined—that is, abruptly delayed—our parade?

**But he’s not! I don’t know how it happened, but the wrong person was turned in. He does have a tattoo on his left ankle, but his eyes are more melancholy than threatening. He said that he doesn’t know how he got here. He was on a boat, fleeing a small town that had once been like a home to someone who wasn’t him. And then suddenly…he was here. Or, you know, in Old Town. He materialized beside me on the street. We began talking, and then Lauren saw him. We were forcibly directed to the lawn of jagged rocks in front of the school. From there, everything’s kind of a blur. But, um, that might just be because there was a lot of smoke. Volunteers had gathered around the fringes of the fire, but nobody could stop it. Cecil, nobody even tried.**

But why are you here?

**That’s what we wanted to talk to you about. We all headed to the used kitchenware store like we were told, but it had already been demolished by the fire. It’s out of control, Cecil. We barely made it out of that part of town. And the director of the new organization…he was separated from us by the flames. We were running when we fell into one of the old subway entrances. At least, I think that’s what it was. Nobody stopped running, though. I kept expecting something to jump out at us, or for us to jump out at something. When the passageway came to an end, we found ourselves in an empty recording studio just across the hall.**

No, Reece. Why are you _here_?

**Because of the fire! That fire that…that nobody has tried to put out, aside from our new and recently lost leader. Somebody will have to. I’m here because I don’t want to be that someone, but…nobody else does either. So I’m—I’m going to volunteer!**

Reece—no—where are you going—I meant why are you inside my studio when the intern’s lounge was _just_ redesigned to get rid of the molten paperwork pit. [sigh] Well, Reece is gone, listeners, along with the rest of the temporary firefighters. They’ve left us for now, just as I will leave you for…

THE WEATHER.

\--

**Hey, everyone! Um, this is Intern Reece. Wait, sorry—oh, gosh, Cecil, really? Okay, this is _Volunteer_ Reece. Because I’ve been an intern for over a week now and haven’t died even a little bit, and also because I was on-scene for what just occurred, and maybe just a little bit because Station Management won’t approve, Cecil is letting me speak on-air to explain everything that happened with the fire. Citizens of Night Vale, visitors to Night Vale, and eavesdroppers from a vague, yet menacing government agency—oh, hi! I didn’t see you in that corner. Nice axolotl earrings—I had never felt more sure of what I had to do than I did upon leaving this radio station. Sometimes, you can’t wait for someone else to stop a fire or prevent a tragedy. Sometimes you’re all that there is. This wasn’t one of those times. **

**The head of our volunteer fire department did not perish in the fire when we were separated. He found refuge in the elementary school, which the flames had avoided out of fear and reverence. At great risk to his own life—at every risk, really—he _spoke_ to the Glow Cloud. I didn’t even know that the leader of our PTA had deigned to understand human speech! But it turns out there was a lot I didn’t know. I had just returned to the site of the fire, which by this point had engulfed about half of our town. The Glow Cloud rose from the school building, blocking out the sun. And water began to fall. Not dead animals, not death and annihilation, but—water. The fire seemed as hesitant as I was. The rain poured down, drenching the Volunteer Fire Department as it extinguished the flames. We were all blinded by the sudden deluge of water and a sense of overpowering awe and terror. By the time it lifted, the Glow Cloud was gone. There is mercy in even the most malevolent of sources, listeners. ALL HAIL. ALL HAIL THE GLOW CLOUD. **

**I don’t know what our lead volunteer said to it, but it must have been something. Something moving. Something very moving, it would seem, moving quickly and away. By the time I dared to poke my head inside the halls of the school house, he was long gone. I don’t think he will be back. I never even knew his name.**

**The eyes marking our town have vanished in the aftermath of this evening’s events. Most of the volunteers have dispersed to find a towel. This fire is gone. But there will always be another fire. And as long as that is true, I hope I will be here to fight it. Whenever I’m not doing my duty for our community radio, that is. Which I am almost done with for today. As my voice ceases to exist in your personal realities, I hope you will be filled with the calm that I feel. Because in this moment, listeners, it is quiet here. Good night, Night Vale. Good night.**

**Author's Note:**

> Regular text = Cecil speaking; bolded text = Intern Reece.
> 
> Here's my attempt at a Lemony Snicket/WTNV crossover, set around the same time as my other WTNV fic. I rather enjoyed writing it, and hope reading it was even half as entertaining. If you have suggestions or critique, please leave a comment! Nobody has ever mysteriously vanished upon being tracked down by our establishment for leaving the author a note. Nobody, like, ever. Or, you know...only twice.


End file.
